


If Circumstances Were Different

by moovelope



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Written Pre S3, blink and you'll miss it Doctor Who - Freeform, no really keep an eye out for the Doctor Who, non canon Mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 09:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12504100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moovelope/pseuds/moovelope
Summary: John meets Mary Morstan at a crime scene, surprisingly enough.





	If Circumstances Were Different

**Author's Note:**

> File Created: 5/30/2013
> 
> Cool cool cool cool

John meets Mary Morstan at a crime scene, surprisingly enough. He and Greg had been out having a pint when his mobile went off, emergency, as usual. John usually just bid him a good night when Greg was pulled off to work, yet they’d only just begun to get pissed and really, John doesn’t want to leave this early in the night. He grabs his coat and cane and follows after the Detective Inspector, certain that they would be back before the rugby match was over.  
  
He isn’t expecting much from the evening, so when he bumps into a gorgeous woman outside of the police tape he’s pleasantly surprised. Her hair is tucked up in the semblance of a bun, her badge the only indication she’s with some agency or another. They attempt to hold the tape up for each other.

“There you go—”

“You goin’ in?” she asks at the same time. She smiles.

“Oh no, nope. I’m outside the tape here. Sorry, let me. Yeah I’m going to let go now,” he says as she ducks under the yellow barrier.

“Smooth,” she says jokingly. “Are you waiting for anyone in particular? Or do you usually lurk around crime scenes?”

John is a little thrown off guard from the sudden attention. “I used to frequent crime scenes often, not much anymore. I mean, I used to- yeah you know what not gonna finish that. ‘M waiting for Detective Lestrade.”

She gives him a look, which John later realizes was ‘you’re completely pissed, aren’t you?’ She turns back towards the light and hubbub of the scene behind them.

“Well you’re out of luck, mate. They’re going to be here for hours yet. I suggest you head home.”

He sighs, frustrated. This is the second time in a row that Greg had bailed on him. “Why do you get to leave early, then?” he asks.

“I’m a different division, thought they might need me tonight but I was mistaken. Now, mate, did you realize that you’re tipping over a bit? You might want to take it easy with the drink tonight.”

John jolts a bit at the realization that he is leaning a bit too heavily. He uses his cane to steady himself as he coughs into his hand. “I’m making a wonderful first impression, aren’t I? John Watson,” he introduces himself, holding out the hand that isn’t gripping the cane. He doesn’t miss the look of shock that flits across her face for a moment. She blinks and reaches out her hand as well.

“I- nice to meet you. I’m Morstan, Mary Morstan,” she says, looking into his eyes. He can tell she’s searching for something there. She recognizes his name, of course she would, most inspectors knew of Sherlock Holmes, why wouldn’t she? Since everything’s already gone to rubbish he decides he can’t make things worse by taking a little risk.  
  
"I don't know if this is too forward, actually no, it’s definitely too forward but… Would you like to have dinner?" he asks and oh. Oh why did he have to phrase it like that? He’s an idiot. Now he’s going to be thinking about Irene and that is not something he needs right now.  
"Oh, no, I—" she starts to say, looking away from him. His brain kicks back into gear as he realizes that he is quite drunk and attempting to pick up an officer of the law.  
  
"You know what? Sorry, I shouldn’t have… Forget I said anything,” he says. She shakes her head.  
  
"No, no it's not you. I...lost someone recently. I'm not ready for anything new," she explains. She looks old beyond her years for a moment, lost in memory.  John stills. The look in her eyes, it shouldn’t remind him, it really shouldn’t—  
  
"I understand, I…" and he almost says I lost someone too. Except that's a different situation entirely. Sherlock and he were never…they were close but. No. He keeps silent. She nods, as if he isn’t a complete loon.  
  
"I think I’ll be seeing you around, though, John. I’ve got a feeling," she assures him, giving him a full, brilliant smile.  
  
She walks away and John doesn't notice that he isn't leaning on his cane quite so much.  


* * *

  
A few weeks down the line and once again he’s waiting behind the yellow tape, checking his phone to see if Greg has texted him. They’re supposed to meet up after Greg’s off work, and John really needs a pint this week so he doesn’t mind the wait. The grey haze of the afternoon starts to fade towards night when Greg finally makes it out of the police crowd. What John isn’t expecting is to see Mary Morstan walking behind him.

“Sorry for the wait, John, this one… I don’t even want to talk about it,” Greg says, wiping a hand down his face. The bags under his eyes had bags.

“Nice to see you again, John,” Mary says, looking a lot more chipper. Her blonde hair is no longer pulled up in a bun, hanging loosely around her shoulders.

“Oh, you’ve met each other before?” Greg asks, leaning into one of the police cars outside of the crime scene. He retrieves his coat and then looks over at the pair.

“Met him a few weeks ago, the case with the electrocution, remember?” Mary says, looking over at John. He flushes.

“It was, ah. The night after we’d already had a few,” John supplies. Greg nods, tugging his coat on.

“Well, let’s go out and have a few more, then. You’re free to join us Mary.”

John watches as Mary’s eyes flick over to his, then back at Greg. Her lips quirk as though she’s hiding a smile.  
  
“You know what? I’ve been needin’ a day off. Where you guys heading?”

Four hours, fifteen pints (shared between the three of them), and two phone numbers exchanged later, John finds himself at the end of a very great night.  
  
She doesn't invite him to crime scenes, he's not even sure if he would want to go. Still, it sometimes feels wrong when she excuses herself from their dinner dates and dashes off without him. He reminds himself that observing dead bodies is in no way, shape or form a date.  
  
A few weeks into dating the two of them both get a bit too buzzed on wine. Mary rubs her eyes and shifts further into her seat, nearly jostling her glass. Like many wine influenced conversations, theirs has drifted to past heartache.

"He, he was the most amazing man I'd ever met. God, he would walk into a room and all you could was just stare and try to keep up. The first few years I knew him were the best of my life. And then we were separated," her voice begins to shake a bit. John's breathing has caught in his chest because damn does this situation sound familiar. "It wasn't his fault, we just couldn't be together and I fought so hard to get back to him."

"Was he imprisoned? Abroad somewhere?" John asks.  
  
"It felt more like I was in prison. He was in a place I couldn't reach him, until I figured out a way to get to him."  
  
John’s confused, but follows her story anyway. He takes an uneven breath.  
  
"What was it like, seeing him again?" he asks quietly, holding on to his glass tighter than he should.  
  
"It was like realizing I had been missing the air from my lungs and the heart from my chest and then suddenly have them slam back into existence. I ran to him, and god he ran straight to me and…" her voice tapers off. John gives a polite little cough.  
  
"No, no not that. It would've been difficult to have sex there right on the pavement. It took us a bit, but we got back here," she made a vague gesture, "And I thought everything was going to be alright. He wasn't exactly the man I had fallen in love with, time had changed him. But it had changed me as well. Life was brilliant."  
  
John notices the few tears rolling down her face.  
  
"But, everything has it's time and everything dies. I just didn't imagine it would be so soon," she says, wiping her tears away on her sleeve.  
  
"I wish that I could look at death the same way you do," John mutters, belatedly realizing how morbid he sounds. Mary hiccups.  
  
"I've had to accept it, wouldn't be faring as well as I am without it. Now, wow, aren't I a downer. This is why I don't drink wine, I just end up crying my eyes out," she says. Her halfhearted laugh hits John in the heart.  
  
"I really don't mind. I- I can empathize. Though the booze usually kept me sane rather than drove me to tears," he says. Mary just nods and lets him continue down whatever idiotic path he's going to fall into.  
  
"You know by now, right? That Sherlock Holmes was my..." he chokes off, not sure what descriptor to use.  
  
"Yeah, I know."  
  
"I mean, me and him, we weren't—”  
  
"You didn't have to be. It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt," she interrupts. John sighs.  
  
"Most people have trouble understanding that."  
  
She gives him a small smile. "Good thing I'm not most people."  
  
And John smiles too, and then laughs and god above they really are drunk but neither care. John pretends the tears come from his laughter, Mary does too.

* * *

He's only known her for two months but John is certain he could marry this woman. She has done more than his therapist and all of his friends combined to helping him into the land of the living once more. She's unlike any woman he's ever met before and will probably ever meet again.  
  
One night he kisses her. And, amazingly, she kisses him back.  


* * *

They go slow, they go so slow. They don't kiss again for another week (more on account of her work schedule than anything else). They are both individuals with a metric ton of baggage, things are not to be taken lightly. He loves the gentle relationship they have. They have dates at small rundown restaurants, they hold hands as they amble down the street, and short rides in the public zeppelins that fill the sky. John Watson thinks that this is a life he could get used to.  
  
That is, until Mary shatters.  
  
It was difficult to get their work schedules to match up. John's odd hours at the clinic were more predictable than hers. Sometimes he wouldn't see her for days in a row. But it was always alright. She came back to his arms, warm and bright.  
  
This time is different, though. Her usual colorful self is almost gray. She seems unfocused as she walks in, oblivious to what’s around her. John drops the spatula into the pan and guides her to the couch.  
  
"That bad of a day?" he asks, attempting to lighten the mood. She lets out a long, pained sigh.  
  
"I suppose you could say that."  
  
"I...hmm. I'll make us some tea. Not sure how it’ll pair with the chicken but we’ll see," he says as he stands. Mary lets out a small broken sound.  
  
"John, oh god John. I didn't realize we had so little time," she nearly whispers.  
  
John's heart stutters. "Wait, what? So little time for what? What do you mean?"  
  
"The two of us, John. I- you'll see very soon what I mean. And I- I need to stop this now," she says, swallowing thickly. John looks at her in disbelief. Things had been going so well.  
  
"Stop this. Stop us? Have I done something wrong?" he asks. He shouldn't ask but god, if there was anything that he could have done differently, can do differently.  
  
"It's not you at all. It’s me. There are so many things that I can't tell you, John. So many things I can't tell anyone. It was irresponsible of me to let this get so far. And now- now coming up… You won't need me John.”  
  
"I'd say let me be the judge of that. There are things that I can't tell anyone either. Things too painful to rehash. I wouldn't hold it against you, Mary—"  
  
She cuts him off with a pained little laugh. "Oh John, that's not even my real name."  
  
John freezes, feeling his blood run cold. "What?"  
  
"It's useful to have a few pseudonyms in my line of work. I mostly had to lie about my job as well. There's no way that you would be able to accept it."  
  
John’s head is reeling. His blood goes from freezing to a boil. "No, no wait, I'm sorry. You've been lying about your job and your name. How could you—"  
  
"Exactly. I'm not exactly stable relationship material," she says, pursing her lips. She almost seems to find it funny.  
  
"Jesus. How…What is your real name, then?"  
  
She sighs. "I really should get going. And John, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Just know it's going to get better real soon." She stands up to leave. John doesn’t stop her.  
  
"Jesus, you're not one of Mycroft's are you?" he asks viciously. "If so, I will eviscerate—"  
  
She turns, "Oh god no. I can't even imagine."  
  
"So you know him then," John says, hands deadly still at his sides.  
  
"I suppose I do. Goodbye John."  
  
"Goodbye..." he says, letting the sentence hang in the air like lead.  
  
She pauses with her hand on the doorknob. After a long moment she looks back to him.  
  
"Rose. My name is Rose."  
  
"Goodbye Rose."  
  
Then she was gone. John stands in shocked silence for a few minutes. He really should have expected something like this. She was far too good to be true.  
  
****  
  
Mar... Rose said it would get better. John doesn’t understand for a few days, but it turns out she was right.  
  
Well, an odd definition of better. His flat is broken into, there’s a dead terrorist on his kitchen table, there’s blood fucking everywhere…but Sherlock Holmes is sitting in his living room, alive, drinking tea. It is likely the best moment of his life.  
  
John still punches Sherlock, though. He deserves it, the git.

**Author's Note:**

> The file name for this one is "spoiler mary is rose yolo". Why did Rose take on the name of a fictional character? Why did she not run the other direction when she bumped into THE John Watson? The world may never know.


End file.
